Taking one of her cakes or a tray of biscuits from the oven always gives her satisfaction and a moment of pride; that is, of course, unless there happens to be some little element that doesn't please her with the bake.
‘'This little bewdy I cut out of a magazine and stuck down on a piece of card... Don′t tell anyone, mind. The tourists love it.’
Intrenched within the citadel of our apartment, and cheered by the comfortings of a coal fire, we passed the day in letter-writing, conversation, or gazing from the sheltered security of our windows upon the agitated sea[…]
Another is a recent version of his mute, fixtureless sinks, this one suggesting Huckleberry Finn filtered through Magritte: its backsplash morphs into a worn white fence, and a robin’s nest with three blue eggs sits in the basin.
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